


hear me when i call

by amosanguis



Series: crossovers and fusions ftw [20]
Category: Generation Kill, True Blood
Genre: 2nd POV - Brad, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Brad, BAMF!Eric, Implied Torture, M/M, happy character deaths, possessive!Eric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 04:51:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amosanguis/pseuds/amosanguis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time you saw Eric Northman, you were at Fangtasia with Ray – Ray’s sick obsession with making you as uncomfortable as possible making the club the only option for your two night stay in Shreveport.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hear me when i call

-z-

 

The first time you saw Eric Northman, you were at _Fangtasia_ with Ray – Ray’s sick obsession with making you as uncomfortable as possible making the club the only option for your two night stay in Shreveport.

As soon as you had walked in, the club had fallen silent, even the dancers had stopped.

Across the room, you watched as a man stood up from his chair ((throne?)) and slowly walked toward you.

You heard Ray curse under his breath.

And once you met Eric’s eyes, you found you couldn’t even talk, could barely breathe.

Eric had leaned in close – you noted that he could barely be half-an-inch taller – his nostrils flaring.

“Come see me later,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear and down your jaw and neck.  “Drinks are on the house for you and your friend.”

If you had been a lesser man, you would have shivered at the words.

 

-x-

 

That first night was incomparable.

The second, even better.

And each time, you made Eric fight for it.  Putting all of your combat training to good use until you were either exhausted or Eric had grown impatient.

On the second day, Eric filled you with his blood.

“So that when you’re in danger, and you’re afraid, I’ll know,” he’d said. “I’ll come if I can.”

You looked down at him as you straddled his hips, told him not to bother, that you would only be afraid if you were already dying.  You told him that you felt no fear in battle, only exhilaration, that if you felt fear, it was only because the battle was lost.

Eric hadn’t laughed like you thought he would, instead he just opened his wrist again and ordered you to drink.

“If you’re caught, and the enemy tries to use a vampire, just tell the vampire you’re mine.”

You told him you didn’t think that there would be many vampires in the desert.

Eric just glared before he pulled you down into the first soft kiss of the night.

 

-x-

 

There was no Nate Fick to protect you and your boys from the ambush this time. 

There was no Ray Person to get out and yell for everyone to _back the **fuck** up_ , to _get the fuck off the bridge_.  There was no Trombley with his dead eye shots, or Pappy with his calm and sure voice over the com, there was no Walt or Poke or any of the other fuckers that you would rather be ambushed with.

Instead, there only three true veterans while everyone else was either fresh from boot or incompetent.

So when you looked down at the dead boy at your feet (( _he was only nineteen, he had a girl back home – a vamp who loved him through and through; she was going to turn him when he got out so that they could be together forever and ever_ )).  It wasn’t until you recognized the boy’s face as strikingly similar to Nate’s, that you felt the first sliver of fear.  Fear because you couldn’t protect your men because your higher ups couldn’t protect you.

And then there was a bag over your head and a needle in your neck.

 

-x-

 

A vampire wasn’t brought in to glamour you until your third day without food.  You were naked in a metal chair that had been bolted to the floor, hands cuffed behind your back.  Your wrists were chaffed raw and bleeding.

He was short and fat and dressed in white cloth and gold jewelry.

“Hello, soldier,” the vampire smiled.

“I’m not a soldier,” you said, furious despite your exhaustion, “I’m a fucking _Marine_.”

The vampire was suddenly in your face, his fangs out.

“And you wouldn’t touch me if you knew what was good for you,” you said calmly.  “I belong to Eric Northman.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know this Eric Northman.  But I’ll be sure to pass along to my superiors that the Americans are depending on their vampires to protect their _soldiers_.”

You didn’t rise to the bait.

The vampire pulled away a little, settling into a chair he had brought in with him, and locked gazes with you.

You closed your eyes against the first pulls of the glamour.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the vampire whispered, the back of his hand brushing your face.  “Open your eyes, tell me what you know.”

“Fuck you,” you said and you almost opened your eyes to see what his reaction would be.  But you knew your training, you remember the pulls of the glamour from the vampire training you as your human instructor beat you – teaching you how to ignore the glamour and the pain.

But this vampire was not one to be ignored.

It was the initial pain of fangs piercing your skin that ripped the scream from you.  Because this wasn’t just _fangs piercing your skin_ this was _fangs ripping and shredding and tearing_ at the meat of your shoulder and then your stomach and then your thigh.

“Get off of me, you fuck-shit!” you screamed, fighting against the cuffs and doing everything you could to shake off the vampire.

“You will tell me what I want to know,” he screamed, spitting your own blood back in your face.  But he was too impatient to glamour you, and perhaps too young, so he settled for old-fashioned torture.

He ripped his way up and down your body, just barely pausing long enough to rub some of his own blood into the wounds to heal them.

You didn’t scream in pain after that initial attack.  Just gritted your teeth and locked your mind away, searching for the bond you held with Eric.

 

-x-

 

Eric was on a plane to Afghanistan the second night of your captivity.

He didn’t say anything to anyone, just gnashed his teeth and snarled until the right thing was done.

And when the plane finally landed, he threw open his coffin lid and flew off into the night.

 

-x-

 

It was the fourth day of you being ‘cuffed to the metal chair, the second night with your short and fat vampire, and you were tired.  So goddamned tired.

The vampire leaned in close, buried his nose in your neck, and bit down.

You closed your eyes, gritted your teeth, focused on your hallucinations of the dead boy at your feet, of your incompetent officers, of Eric and how beautiful he was ((you’ve always been a narcissist and so had he, so really, it only makes sense that the two of you would pick each other)).

The roar that suddenly filled the mud hut you were being held in was what jerked you back to reality.

The vampire who had been feeding off your blood roared back and it was all you could do to track how Eric ripped the enemy away from your neck and threw him into the air.

Eric caught the vampire and ripped open his throat.

“Rip his fucking head off,” you growled, not sure if Eric would be able to understand you – your voice was hoarse and so, so weak.

But Eric did hear you.

And he shoved the little vampire into your face and whispered in a language you didn’t understand:

_Apologize._

And before he could, Eric tore off the other vampire’s head.

 

-x-

 

Eric used a pocket knife to open his jugular for you. 

He un-cuffed you, pulled you into his lap, and guided your mouth to his blood.

 

-x-

 

The first time you saw Eric Northman, you were at _Fangtasia_ with Ray.

And the last time, the last time you saw Eric, it was as the two of you walked into the sun together, holding hands, greeting your 5th millennia together.

 

-z-

 

End.


End file.
